‘Of course it is,’ muttered Marion, taking a delicate bite of overcooked cabbage.
Already bored with the conversation, Hugo turned his attention away from his grandson and onto his son. ‘Rob, I’ve not had the latest quarterly figures on my investment.’
‘I know,’ said Rob. ‘The accountancy firm we were using turned out to be a bunch of imbeciles, so there’s a bit of a delay while we transfer all the figures and documentation across to a new firm.’
‘Humph. Well, I’d like to have those figures across my desk soon. I’ve invested a hefty chunk of change and expect to see returns quickly, or I may have to rethink where I invest my money.’
‘Gentlemen, please,’ said Marion, her voice scolding. ‘The dinner table is not the place for vulgar conversation about money. Save it for once we’ve eaten.’
‘Of course, dear,’ said Hugo.
‘Speaking of work, I’m thinking about getting a job.’ Goodness knows why I felt the need to share this half-baked plan. Perhaps it was that I knew no-one would ask anything about my life and I was fed up of being invisible.
‘A job? Goodness me, what is the world coming to?’
‘I think you’ll find plenty of women work, Marion.’
‘Yes, but a woman’s place is at home with her family. Anyway, what do you need to work for? Isn’t my son’s wage enough for you?’
There it was. The old accusation, that whilst never explicitly stated, had been perched on the tip of Marion’s tongue from the moment she met me.Gold-digger. If only she knew. Whilst being comfortably off was a luxury I didn’t take for granted, I’d never been so happy as during the years of my childhood, when we’d had little in the way of money, but plenty in the way of love.
‘Don’t worry, mother. Olivia’s having a mad-moment. It will pass.’ Rob, Marion, and Hugo laughed. Beside me, Bertie shuffled in his seat.
‘Mum? Can I go out and play in the garden?’
‘Of course you can,’ I said, knowing it would wind up my in-laws. ‘Just make sure to wear your coat. It’s chilly out there.’
Bertie leaned over and kissed me, then jumped off his chair and sprinted out of the room.
We were on the coffee phase of the never-ending lunch when I heard a voice calling from behind the door, ‘Mum!’
‘Bertie?’
‘Mum, can you come here?’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Hugo, his voice even louder than before, his cheeks mottled red from all the wine he’d drunk.
I stood up from the table. ‘Bertie needs me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman. Get the boy to come in here.’
‘Bertie, it’s OK, come here and talk to me.’
The door opened an inch, a small hand beckoning me. I pushed back my chair and began walking to the door.
‘Come in here this instant.’ Rob’s voice dripped with impatience. No movement came from behind the door. ‘For God’s sake,’ said Rob, scrunching up his napkin and throwing it down on the table. He pointed a finger in my direction. ‘See? This is what happens when you spoil a child.’
Rob stomped towards the door, stopping in his tracks as he viewed his son. ‘What the hell?’ His hand reached through the doorway, and he dragged a sopping wet Bertie into the room.
It was hard to tell how much of the water on Bertie’s face was from an external factor and how much was from his eyes. I rushed towards him, pulling him into my arms, his sodden clothes dampening my dress.
‘What happened?’
Bertie’s bloodshot eyes looked from me to the other adults in the room. ‘I had an accident.’ His voice was a whisper, his clothes hanging from him, heavy and stretched from all the water they’d soaked up.
‘Have you been in our pool?’ Marion spat the words, a muscle in the corner of her eye twitching.
Bertie sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Marion bristled. Hugo tried to focus his wine-addled brain and eyes on what was happening. Rob seethed.
